Doña Josefa shook her head doubtingly, but Mercedes asked:
“Do you think George might come?”
“I do, and he can then carry out there our plan of establishing a bank. San Diego is dead now, and will remain so for many years, but San Francisco is a good business field. So we can all locate ourselves there, and Gabriel and Tano go into business easily.”
“Business without capital? See where my poor Gabriel is now,” Doña Josefa answered, sadly.
“That is true, but if you will sell your rancho, they will have plenty of capital. Even at two dollars per acre, your rancho, being forty-seven thousand acres—if sold at that low figure—would bring you ninety-four thousand dollars.”
“But who, who will buy mortgaged land, full of squatters, and without a patent, in this dead place?”
“I will. I will pay you more than ninety-four thousand dollars—more than double that amount—besides paying you for the lost cattle, which will be no more than what is right.”
“Oh, no, I couldn't agree to that, but as for selling the land, if my children are willing, I shall be, for this place is too full of sad memories, and will be sadder yet if I cannot have my children with me. When Gabriel and Victoriano get well, talk to them about buying the rancho, though I don't think you ought to pay any such high price. You are too generous to us.”
“Indeed, I am not. Don't forget I am a money-making Yankee. I think four—or even three—dollars per acre is a high price for land in this county now, but I can wait years, and then I shall double the price paid now. So, you see, I am not a bit generous. I am trying to make money out of you.”
“Talk to the boys. See what George and Gabriel say,” Doña Josefa said, smiling sadly at Clarence's wily argument and earnest manner.